


Bestowed by silver and gold

by Miss_Kitten



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, M/M, platonic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Kitten/pseuds/Miss_Kitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic written for Silmarillion-themed Secret Santa Art Exchanged and based on a prompt: Maedhros and Fingon sparring in Valinor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bestowed by silver and gold

Welcome, dear reader. Are you here to hear a story? I have one, you know, if you wish to listen… oh, you do? Then, please, sit down and make yourself comfortable. A tea maybe? No? Alright then, open your mind and let your imagination run freely, cause now I want to take you to the realm of the Valar, the land of Valinor…

No winter nor death you can find there, every plant, every creature thrives with life and joy. Grass under one’s feet is soft and vividly green, gentle wind brings pleasant coolness, flowers grow in colors you have never seen elsewhere – and their scent! Sweet yet delicate, bringing nothing but happiness to mind.

It is the land of serenity and mirth, which grows only more beautiful with every passing day.

And there in the south of Valinor, among tall trees, on a small clearing somewhere in the Pastures of Yavanna, a towering figure stands with his face turned to Two Trees. The day is on its peak – the light of Laurelin is fading, but Telperion is waking up, filling the air with warm and soft mixture of golden and silver, which Maedhros watches with awe, the light dances upon his pale skin, bathing his auburn hair with a waterfall of both illuminations. A small smile upwards the corners of his lips as a breathtaking spectacle is happening before his bright eyes.

He brought his sword with him, but it lays on the grass beside his bare feet, forgotten and unnecessary for a while. It will be used later, but for now Maedhros is taken aback by brightness rather than by any weapon.

His friend should join him any moment, coming for their daily training. Maedhros is said to be a sword master, a title he humbly accepts, and still improves his skills. Fingon, his dear friend, asked for lessons and Meadhros was more than glad to agree.

There, on the left, at the opposite end of the clearing, Fingon is stepping from between the trees. His long dark hair are braided in neat plaits, adorned with gold, which only shines brighter as a light of both Trees lays upon it. He smirks as his eyes land on his friend’s back, his smile broads when he shifts his gaze on the dance of the lights.

Approaching Maedhros, Fingon lays his sword next to his friend’s one, and joins him, announcing his presents by a brief squeeze on Maedros’s shoulder. The red-haired elf turns his eyes and greets his friend with a gentle smile, which is returned by Fingon immediately, however Trees’ lights draw their gaze from each other and at them until Laurelin’s golden gleam wanes, letting Talperion’s silver one dominate the air.

That is when Maedhros finally faces his friend.

“Shall we begin?” asks Fingon, bending to reach for both swords and handing Maedhros his one.

“Yes, but these won’t be needful. Not for a while, at least.” Fingon’s brow knits at his friend words, but he puts his sword back, just as Maedhros does with his, and studies his friend’s face, on which a playful smirk forms.

“And why is that, if I may ask?”

“Because today, my friend, I shall teach you how to fight without a weapon.” Maedhros explains, standing in front of his rather confused friend with a wide grin, his back straight and arms folded on his broad chest.

Fingon stares at Maedhros for a longer while, searching for a hint of a tease or a trick, which his friend might put at him, but he sighs as he comes to a realization that Maedhros is telling the truth.

The redhead shrugs, “You must know how to defend yourself in case your sword is gone, Fingon.” says he in a scholarly voice, at which Fingon sighs again.

“Fair enough, then. Where do we begin?”

“Do you know of weak spots on one’s body?”

“Stomach, kneecaps, neck.” Fingon lists with a roll of his eyes. Far too many times Maedhros has asked this question, taking his role as a tutor seriously enough to make it annoying.

Maedhros nods, looking pridefully at Fingon.

“Attack me.” He says cheekily, taking a relaxed, nonchalant position as if he just asked for a dance rather than a fight.

Fingon eyes his friend, recalling what he has been taught so far. Since he is shorter than Maedhros – everyone is shorter than him, to be frank – a neck is not a good choice. A stomach seems to be a better one, however Fingon is sure than this is what his friend is expecting of him, so that leaves a final spot.

With a determined expression, Fingon makes a sway with his left leg, aiming for Maedhros’s knee. The latter just moves to the right, swiftly avoiding the hit, chuckling quietly.

Fingon groans, but doesn’t give up. He aims for the stomach this time, ignoring the fact that Maedhros is obviously prepared for it. His hit is pared by his opponent’s forearm, which sends Fingon a step back, but he attacks again, and again, and again, each and every time being blocked and forced to withdraw.

Panting heavily, he waves for a break, leaning to place his hand on his thighs.

“How is it possible that I cannot even reach you?” he breathes out, looking at Maedhros with a defeated gaze. Maedhros only smirks, squeezing Fingon’s shoulder reassuringly.

“It is easier with a sword, isn’t it?” Fingon nods, still catching his breath but smiling despite that. Maedhros pats his shoulder and straightens, Fingon soon follows.

“You need to remember to move constantly and not target at one spot. Try to knock me over, Fingon.” He nods again to encourage his friend more and Fingon, after taking a deep breath, he approaches Maedhros with one big step.

However, this time he is more focused and creative in a way of attacking. He feigns to aim at Maedhros’s stomach, which leads the redhead to bend a little, protectively covering his middle with his arms. Fingon uses that to blow a punch on Maedhros’s left arm. This makes him bend more and grasp on aching limb and Fingon, who now swirls behind Maedhros’s back, hits one of his friend’s legs at the back on a knee. The impact sends Meadhros to the ground, on which he lends on flat palms and bended knees.

“Very good!” he exclaims, looking at grinning Fingon over his shoulder and smiling widely as well. A mischievous sparkle lit up his eyes as he adds , “but not careful enough.” And, with a powerful blow, he swings one of his legs, in a one swift move making Fingon loose his balance and land on the ground with a thump, next to Maedhros.

Both of them are panting and Maedhros started to giggle, seeing Fingon’s resigned expression as Fingon rolls on his back. The latter looks up at the silver-shining sky, his chest heaving.

“You simply need more practice, Fingon, do not –“ Maedhros’s soft and soothing voice begins but he is not given a chance to finish his sentence. Fingon’s palm shoots across the distance between them and stops at redhead’s neck, catching him off guard, which results in Maedhros lying surprised on his back and Fingon hovering over him as he straddles his friend.

“Do I, now?” Fingon teases, letting out a chuckle as his friend’s wide open eyes fill with pride and happiness.

“You are a quick learner, I must admit.” Maedhros notes, taking Fingon’s hand which the dark-haired elf offered as soon as he stood up.

“Have I learnt enough to pick up a sword, Maedhros?” dusting off a dirt from his tunic Fingon walks to a spot where the weapons were left, taking both of them and coming back to his friend.

“I do believe that you did quite well.” Maedhros takes his sword out of its sheathe, Fingon follows suit, pointing his one at his friend with a playful smirk.

“Quite well, you say. I have a feeling that I am far better with a sword than without it.”

“Let us see, Fingon.” The redhead counters with matching teasing and takes a position, waiting for his friend to do so as well. Fingon, of course, is fast to stand in front of his friend, ready and eager for his lesson.

And soon the air fills with a sound of clashes when one sword hits the other, and a laughter, full of joy, when two friends simply spend time with each other, teaching and learning. They do not feel as time passes by, lost in a dance of attacks and withdraws, and only when Telperion begins to fade they stop.

You can see them, right at the edge of the clearing. They are facing the Two Trees, standing side by side, watching peacefully as the golden light of Laurelin awakes.


End file.
